


Come Back Home with Me

by Nanukua



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drinking, Established Broken Relationship, M/M, POV Derek, Pet Names, Stiles feels forgotten
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-02-05
Packaged: 2018-03-10 16:09:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3296531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nanukua/pseuds/Nanukua
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“No! No, Derek, I’m done with this. It’s too painful.” – Stiles’ voice doesn’t even falter. His heartbeat is steady, but his breathing’s a little off and he smells of salt like he’s been crying.<br/>“Stiles, baby, please…” – Derek reaches out for him one more time, Stiles jerks out of the way, pushing through Derek to get outside. “Stiles!”<br/>“I’m tired of this, Derek. Let me go.” </p><p>But Derek’s been so obsessed with monsters, he hasn’t been paying attention to Stiles at all, so his hubby decides to pack his bags and leave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come Back Home with Me

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Down on My Knees](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2525144) by [Vendelin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vendelin/pseuds/Vendelin). 



Stiles is dragging his suitcase to the front door, grabbing the handle, when the door opens by itself. Derek’s standing on the porch, keys in hand, dumbfounded.

“Stiles, where are you-?” – Derek starts.

“I can’t take this anymore!” – Stiles brushes off Derek’s outstretched hand. “That’s it! I’m leaving.”

“What?! Why?” – Derek’s shocked. Where’d this come from? – “Stiles, let’s just talk about-“

“I’ve talked, Derek.” – Stiles frowns. “I’ve been talking all the damn time.”

If he has, Derek’s been too tired to hear it.

“Come on, Stiles, let’s come inside.”

“No! No, Derek, I’m done with this. It’s too painful.” – Stiles’ voice doesn’t even falter. His heartbeat is steady, but his breathing’s a little off and he smells of salt like he’s been crying.

“Stiles, baby, please…” – Derek reaches out for him one more time, Stiles jerks out of the way, pushing through Derek to get outside. “Stiles!”

“I’m tired of this, Derek. Let me go.”

“No!” – Derek grabs him by the shoulders. “Stiles, just tell me what’s wrong!”

“What’s Wrong? Whats wrong?! Derek, nothing’s right! Nothing’s been right for so long, I don’t think it ever has!” – Stiles is staring Derek straight in the eye, brows furrowed, his voice keeps rising, and the smell of salt permeates the air. “Why do you even want me back?” His mouth twists.

Derek doesn’t know what to say. He’s standing in the open doorway, holding Stiles by the shoulders.

Stiles deflates. Juts his chin out, and stares in Derek’s wide-open eyes.

“Derek, when’s the last time we had sex?”

So that’s what this is about.

“Really, Stiles?”

“Yes, Derek. Really.” – It seems like a big effort, but Stiles’ voice is even and steady.

“I’ve been busy, it’s just work.” Derek tries to guide Stiles inside, only Stiles pushes back, stays in the same place. “Come on, Stiles, this is ridiculous.”

“Oh yeah? You call that work, Derek, but what you really do is ride around town, searching for new things that lurk in the dark.”

“I’m trying to keep you safe, Stiles. Sorry if you think that’s a bad thing.”

“That’s not what this is about!” – Stiles sighs out a breath. Seems to deflate a little more, but doesn’t budge out of place. “Derek, when’s the last time you were home for the night?”

Derek seems to understand that he needs to play along. He scratches his head, trying to remember. Nothing comes up.

“It might’ve been a while…” – he says hesitantly.

“Yeah. A while.” – Derek sees that Stiles has seemed to have packed all his stuff. “Derek, Why do you want me here?” – At Derek’s furrowed brows, Stiles twitches his mouth. “I mean, it’s not like we’ve been together much-“

“Three years, Stiles.” – Derek interrupts.

“I know. Congratulations, Derek, you’ve ignored me for three years. Do you remember the date when we married?” – Stiles steps away, still outside, wraps arms around himself, as if trying to put some sort of wall between them.

Then Derek remembers – “Last Wednesday…”

“Huh. So you do remember.” – Stiles’ mouth twitches again.

“Stiles, honey, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” – Suddenly, Stiles loses his weak look, his eyes narrow, chest puffs a little, eyes dart a look sharp as a dagger. “Sorry doesn’t cut it this time, Derek.”

“You’re overreacting, babe. Come on, I’ll take you where you want, we can even go to that little place where they make pots, remember?”

“That was three months ago, Derek!”

Derek blinks. Can’t be. “Stiles, honey, you’re leaving me over this? That’s crazy.” – Stiles stiffens at the word. He still has nightmares about the Eichen House, still counts fingers sometimes.

“Yeah? So, you’ve been coming home at 3 AM all week, and sure,” – Stiles flails his arms exaggeratedly “you’re home on weekends, but it’s like I’m not even there! You stare at your stupid stacks of files, or you’re in your little office, you close the fucking door, Derek! And the last time I walked in, you wanted me to do research! And you know? You know the time before that you told me to just get out! Do you remember that, huh, wolfykins? – Stiles says that name like something nauseating, though Stiles always loved calling Derek funny names. It was their thing. – “Fucking... You know what? I saw you!” Stiles pushes a finger in Derek’s face. “With that girl, Derek. I saw you flirting with her –“

“That was for a case!” – Derek tries desperately.

Stiles barely lets him get the sentence out, shaking his head all along. “Yeah, so what? You know, Derek, thank you.” He sneers. “Thank you for making me realize that I don’t want this. Heck, you don’t want it, I don’t want it, why are we fucking doing this, Derek?” Stiles yells on top of his lungs, seemingly uncaring of who might overhear, then, he sort of breaks.

“You were never like that with me, Der.” - It’s like Derek feels the drop in Stiles’ stomach. “I saw you there, gently holding her hand, leaning in, flashing her your smile… God, I just stood there, you know, watching, entranced.” Derek whimpers. “And know what? I’m not even mad anymore. I mean… Whatever… Let me go!” – Derek’s already crossed what space was between them, trying to wrap Stiles in his arms, whispering ‘Stiles please!’ and ‘can’t’ and ‘don’t go’. Stiles squirms against it, pushes at Derek as he catches his arms, and there’s that smell of salt again.

Everything in Derek’s head is spinning. How’d he not realize? Had he really been so blind? Stiles looks small, unhappy, shaking, distressed. And Derek made him that way? Like he doesn’t know what Derek’s gonna do to him. Like he’s not sure who Derek is anymore. Derek stares at him. Releases his arms.

Derek lets go. And immediately Stiles jolts out of place, tripping over his own feet in haste, like he doesn’t trust himself enough to wait. Derek doesn’t move. Vaguely hears the jangle of keys, the start of the engine, screeching of tires.

Then he’s left there, standing alone on an empty porch with an empty garage, an empty house, and a hole in his heart.

 

 

He tries calling people.

First he calls Scott, thinking his alpha might help him. “Derek,” – he hears the unwelcome of Scott’s voice, “Stiles called me,” – he sounds irritated. Good, Derek thinks, at least he’s not the only one.

“Great, so look, if you’ll just tell me what to –“ Derek doesn’t get to finish what he was saying. There’s a snarl on the other side.

“Oh, think it’s that easy?” – he hears a challenge in Scotts voice. “Derek, I’ve been trying to get him to do that for weeks now!”

Derek sits on the couch, their couch, he reminds himself, elbows on knees, head in hands. “What?” – he croaks out.

“Derek, you’re not good for him.”

Derek stands up in anger “Scott, you’re my freaking alpha, what the fuck?”

“Yeah,” – he hears a feral tone in Scott’s voice. “And Stiles is my best friend.” Scott’s words seemed to be muffled, Derek suspects he’s fanging out, fighting for control. “And you hurt him.”

Derek hears the steady beeps of an ended call.

“Fine then!” – he calls out.

He tries Erica next.

“Hahaha!” he hears her laugh after retelling what had happened, “he finally did it, didn’t he?” –“What do you mean?” – Derek grunts out. He sure doesn’t feel like laughing.

“Derek, you’ve been brushing Stiles off - ” Erica starts.

“I’ve been trying to keep him safe!” – Derek growls. “Yeah, I was a bit busy.” There’s a huff of breath in the phone. “It’s not like he’s deaf, he should’ve said something went off.”

“I was saying,” Erica empathizes, “you’ve been brushing him off since you got married, Derek.”

“No,” Derek says, shaking his head even though no one can see. “No, everything was fine before.”

“Oh, Derek, you really thought you were ok?” There’s a long pause. “You were not ok, Derek, everyone saw it.” There’s another pause.

“Why’d you keep it from me then?” – Derek rubs forehead in frustration.

“Derek…” – “Erica!” – Derek raises his voice, then thinks better of it. “What do I do?” – his voice an almost whisper now.

He hears another huff. “I don’t think you can fix this anymore, Derek. It has been three years.” – “Why the fuck had no one told me?” – Derek’s loud again.

“We tried!” – Erica’s voice is laced with frustration. Like Derek’s the one who doesn’t get it. “We all tried, Derek.” – “No, you didn’t” – Derek makes his best effort to keep his voice even. – “So, what, the blame’s on me, on the pack? Do you remember Wednesday?” Erica asks, almost soothingly. “What about it?” Derek gruts, sitting down again. “We all tried. Isaac asked you the date three times, Boyd asked you plainly if you hadn’t forgotten anything that day, after that I took you shopping, Derek, I stared at the gift shop window like a complete idiot!” – Derek keeps rubbing his forehead, trying to recall anything like that. He stays like that for a while.

“Shit.” – he finally manages.

“yeah.” – Erica acknowledges.

“What do I do?” – Derek tries again.

“You’ve done enough, Derek.” – He hears her hesitate, “maybe you should let it go?”

“NO!” Derek slams the phone in the wall. Then regrets it.

He goes out to find Boyd, maybe get some answers from him. Boyd’s always been honest, Derek thinks, he’ll tell him how it really is. And Boyd’s rational, maybe they’ll come up with something.

When he sees Boyd, the dark-skinned man shakes his head slowly, that seems to convey ‘I am so disappointed in you’ in so many ways, Derek can’t stay there to see more.

 

Derek tries to involve himself in some of the new weird things going on in Beacon Hills. He ends up spacing out with papers in his hands, not managing to catch any of the words.

He tries cleaning the house, something he hasn’t done in a long, long time, leaving everything domestic to Stiles without thinking twice.

Walking around the house, Derek finds photos of him and Stiles, of the pack hanging around together.

“It wasn’t always like this” - Derek muses, holding up an old picture of Derek spraying Stiles with a hose and Stiles running away laughing. He remembers that was a pack barbeque on a warm summer day and still Stiles managed to catch a cold afterwards. Smiling to himself, Derek remembers how Stiles later bitched about warewolves and their damn immunity.

Then he recalls hearing Stiles cough recently, Derek had returned late and Stiles had woken up from a nasty coughing fit. Derek doesn’t recall helping him get better.

In the kitchen, he finds a crumpled up paper, which he picks up to throw in the trash, but sees Stiles’ handwriting. He thinks maybe Stiles left a note, hoping that if he did, he still cares about Derek at some level. It turns out to be some old shopping list.

It says:

_Derek, please buy a few gallons of water. They’re heavy and the filter broke._

That’s all it says. Derek used to like the little lists Stiles wrote. He always used to make grocery shopping sound sweet and domestic. He wrote things like “ _Honeyboo, we need some milk and we’re out of sugar, but that's ok, you’re sweet enough for me_.” Or “ _Love of my life, we ran out of bread, and make sure those buns are fresh. I’ll feel up yours when you get back_.”

Derek used to shake his head and tell Stiles he was ridiculous, the pack always making fun of Derek blushing in random stores, reading Stiles’ little love poems. Seriously, some of them rhymed! Derek still remembers standing in the frozen yoghurt aisle, beet red, having read “ _Roses are red, violets are fine. If I be the 6, will you be the 9? Oh and will you please buy some cheese and wine_?”

Derek hadn’t checked the fridge or bought anything for quite a while now. He wonders how long the list had been there.

He thinks maybe staying in is too depressing, so he decides to go for a run. He thinks about wolfing out in the preserve, but maybe he’s had enough time alone, so, on a whim, he decides for a jog at the city park.

“Yeah, maybe people and fresh air. Something new.”

It’s the weekend, so there are many people in the park, many runners. He hears kids laughing, someone’s playing football, he passes a couple feeding ducks together on a bridge.

Derek begins to feel a bit less like his stomach coiled and someone ripped out his heart.

That is until he hears Stiles. Derek doesn’t see him at first, he recognizes Stiles’ laugh. Derek always felt kind of proud when he made Stiles laugh. He remembers Stiles being shocked about Derek having a sense of humor, then bursting in giggles or, what Derek especially enjoyed, open-mouthed laughter.

Then he sees Stiles, walking, and next to him Derek recognizes Isaac. He sees the hand Isaac’s casually thrown over Stiles’ shoulders, effortlessly leaning in to say something in Stiles’ ear, making Stiles go into another fit of laughter.

Derek decides that that’s enough running for today.

 

By the end of the day, Derek’s standing in a liquor store, paying a wad of cash for a crate of vodka and a few bottles of Jack to top it off. That’s the only way he knows how to get at least tipsy. It’s what he and Laura had spent most of the days doing back in New York.

He hears a whistle behind him. When he turns around, Chris Argent is eyeing him with raised brows. “Long night ahead?” he asks.

“What’s it to you?” – Derek grunts in response, adjusting his load a little.

Chris eyes him a little, then nods his head to the alcohol, and says something Derek least expects to hear: “Want some help with that?”

That’s how Derek ends up in his now empty house, sitting on the kitchen barstools with Chris, him sipping whiskey, looking entertained as Derek jugs vodka like water, slamming the sharp-edged table-glass only to once again fill it up to the edges.

 

“Huh,” – he hears Chris say, - “wonder how much of that stuff would actually kill a warewolf.”

Derek glares at him, only stops to slam down another glass. “Well you’re the hunter here, you should know.”

Chris eyes him amusedly. “You know, you could actually drink from the bottle.”

“So you could make jokes of me being raised by wolves?”

They banter a lot, but Derek understands that this is much better than actually drinking alone, the house smelling of them and Stiles, Derek only coming to understand how their scents don’t even mix, like they were just two people occupying the same space.

Realizing that, he stops pouring the glass, taking Chris’ advice and simply emptying the bottle.

Chris’ eyebrows raise at that.

“What’s the occasion?” – he asks.

Derek furrows his brows, “You think my life’s not enough reason to be drinking?”

Chris eyes him steadily. “Well, there must be something in particular that you’re drowning here. And since I’m here, it’s not about family. And since the house is empty, I’m guessing, Stiles?”

Derek claps. “You want a medal for that?”

“I could just leave, you know.” Chris says. Derek thinks (he’s still pretty sober, but he’s feeling a buzz, finally) Chris would have left by now if he wanted. “So, you want to talk about it?”

Derek gives him the stink eye. “Why’d I want to talk about it if I’ve emptied,” he looks around, “seven bottles to forget it?”

Chris shrugs.

Derek breathes in, the scent filling his lungs, and he decides, what the heck. It’s not like there’s much to lose anymore.

“Stiles left.”

Chris keeps looking.

“He left for good.” - Chris doesn’t say anything. Maybe it’s the ethanol in the vodka, maybe Derek’s feeling talkative today, maybe it’s because he doesn’t give a shit about what Chris thinks of him, there might not even be a reason at all, but Derek decides to let it out, still leaving details about the pack unsaid. “Everybody thinks I messed up. My husband for three years packed up and left. And all because I’d tried to keep him and everyone else here safe. Says I didn’t pay attention to him.”

Chris nods, retaining silence.

“So when I asked what to do, how to get my freaking husband back into our house, they say I should let it go. Let Stiles go.” The words burn his throat more than all the alcohol. “How can I let it go? How can I possibly let go of the one person that actually made me feel human? The only person who could make me smile. The one thing that has me anchored to this freaking death trap of a town. God, I tried so hard, so fucking hard to protect him. Everyone I loved died here. I wanted this place clean, freaking spotless from anyone who might do him harm.” He sees Chris pour himself another glass, only then remembering he’s not alone.

“You know, Derek,” he hears Chris say, “the one thing I really regret is not telling my family how much I loved them. I tried to do it often, knowing this could be the last time I may see them, but it still wasn’t nearly enough.” He drowns the glass. “Probably never could be.”

Derek stares at him. Stares at the empty bottle in his hand, drops his head back.

“I didn’t tell him.” Derek doesn’t think Chris caught that, but now that Derek has, the thought deigns on him, making him remember all the times he’s heard Stiles tell him that. Remembers the tight hugs goodbye, the bright smile hello, remembers how happy Stiles was at their wedding. Remembers how Derek had looked at Stiles, walking in their home, smelling happy and content, wondered how he deserved something shining bright, so good, so alive. Derek remembers lying in bed, mumbling praises in Stiles’ ear. It had been far too long ago. Derek can’t remember the last time he told Stiles he loved him.

He feels panic rising up, suddenly understanding Stiles could never come back, never walk on these floors, never laugh and straighten Derek’s frown with a finger. Stiles may be gone from Derek’s life. Completely.

  
“I need to see him.” Derek stands from where he was sitting, swaying a little at the sudden motion. Chris puts a firm hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t. Not like this.”

As Derek tries to focus his vision on Chris, he kind of recognizes his point.

“You need to cool off, Derek. Sleep the night, see him tomorrow.” As Chris says this, he’s already exiting the kitchen, Derek following him.

When Chris stands before the front door, he looks sternly at Derek. “Tomorrow.”

Derek nods from where he’s balancing himself on a wall, waiting until Chris goes out.

Derek’s left alone in the house again. Usually he’d be driving around the city, chasing a lead on another creature, perhaps tracking something, doing things Scott always tells him ‘I can manage myself’ , ‘leave it to the pack’ and ‘just go home, Derek’. Why didn’t Derek do that? It seems so simple. Go home. Be with Stiles. Tell Stiles you love him.

He somehow navigates to the bed, which seems too cold, then too hot. Derek can’t seem to get comfortable, constantly shifting, getting tangled in the sheets. The stupid silky red sheets Stiles wanted so much. Derek thinks they’re slippery and tacky, but Stiles used to put them on the bed and playfully look at Derek, sometimes he did it on special occasions. Derek shifts a palm to straighten the fabric on Stiles’ side. The sheets have probably been for Wednesday. He missed that one as well.

Why wait till tomorrow? If Stiles is still not sleeping, why wait? Why not tell Stiles now?

With that resolve, Derek climbs out of bed, smoothing Stiles’ side again, and leaps through the window.

He returns a moment later, grabs Stiles’ red hoodie, and goes out again.

“At least I have a reason to go,” – Derek thinks.

 

Boy was he ever wrong.

He knows Stiles went to his dad. It’s either that or Scott’s, and Derek doesn’t think Scott would be happy to see him, so he comes to Stiles’ old window, feeling nostalgic.

He sees Stiles laying face down on his old bed. The room hasn’t changed much since Stiles was in high school.

Derek knocks on the window. Sees Stiles turn his face towards it, coming to open it. The motion is almost automatic, like everything’s turn back to where they started.

Seeing Stiles, Derek wants to simply pick him up and get him back home, where he belongs.

After throwing the window open, realization dawns on Stiles’ face, he frowns and takes a few steps back, creating distance between them.

“Can I come in?” – Derek asks, already throwing a foot inside.

“No, stop, Derek, please. Why?” – Stiles’ voice is rough, like he’s been either sleeping or crying, and there are red circles around his eyes.

“Um,” – Derek’s lost for words, “I brought your favorite hoodie?” – Damn, that’s really the last thing he wanted to tell Stiles.

“Oh,” Stiles says, still standing too far for Derek’s liking, so he climbs the rest of the way in. At that, Stiles takes another step back.

Stiles doesn’t look like he wants the clothing handed to him, like touching Derek will burn him, so Derek ends up placing it on a chair.

“So,” – Derek decides to play it easy, - “when are you coming back?”

“I’m not.” – Stiles counters immediately. “It’s over. I’ll send someone to get my stuff. “

“Maybe Isaac?” –Derek seethes, a pang of jealousy hitting him in the chest, - “Saw you two today in the park. You seemed pretty comfy, Stiles, having fun without me?”

Stiles frowns, “That’s not what this is about, Derek.”

“We’re still married, you know. I’m still your husband.”

They both are beginning to rile up, Stiles flushes angrily, “Yeah, you suddenly remembered?”

“Yeah, must’ve slipped your mind, though.” – Derek snarks back, hands in fists.

“Oh, look at you, Derek, reminding me. What else d’you remember? Our anniversary? Oh no. How about my birthday? Nah, missed that one too. Gee,” Stiles gulps, “wonder if you’d even notice I was gone if we hadn’t met on the way out?” – Stiles’ tone is angry, his voice hissing, but he still brakes on the last sentence.

Derek doesn’t want to fight, he came here to persuade Stiles to come back to him, so he takes a different route. “You can’t just move on like this, Stiles.”

“Watch me.”

“Stiles, baby, I want you back, please come back.” Derek moves closer to Stiles, who moves equally further away. “I miss you, Stiles, I need yo-“

“Now? You need me now?” he lashes out. “What am I, some toy taken away from you? Or, what, now that I’ve realized I’m more than a piece of furniture that you use, now that…”

Stiles waves his arms around, starts pacing. Derek thinks about it, but knows better than to reach out now. He stands, watching their relationship burn, like everything else he’s had.

“Now that you’ve seen me with Isaac, my pack, for crying out loud, you want me?” He stops, looks back at Derek. “Not so nice to be on the other side, is it?”

He continues pacing. "Well, what about what I need? What I needed, Derek? I’m not some machine who cleans and cooks and serfs the internet for you, Derek! As you already pointed out, I’m your husband! Who you’re probably bored with, or, I don’t know, maybe didn’t want in the first place…” He stops, looks at the ceiling, swallows. “God, I can’t believe I proposed to you.”

Derek’s heart keeps braking as Stiles stands, his back to Derek, hand scratching his scalp, exhaling shakily.

“Leave me alone. Please.”

And that’s Derek’s cue to go. He wolfs out, runs as fast and as far as he can.

He runs through the rest of the night nonstop, Stiles’ last words ringing in his ears.

He wakes up in the morning, lying on a forest field. The preserve, he realizes. His clothes are torn, he’s lost his shoes somewhere on the way, there’s dirt under his nails, on his feet. He picks stray leaves and twigs out, laying down again, closing his eyes.

Thoughts swirl in his head. “It’s really over”, he thinks. “Probably didn’t deserve him in the first place.” He rolls to his side, curling in. “Can’t do anything right.”

After a while, Derek walks back. He doesn’t shift. The walk is long, taking up the most of the day. He has to walk through town, people throwing him looks. He passes some of the pack, who pointedly do not look at him.

The sky is already darkening as he steps on the porch of their - his, he corrects - house. He looks around, body burning with exhaustion; he feels drained, so he numbly stumbles to the couch and falls asleep.

Next morning he wakes up on the break of dawn. Thinks about what to do now. He doesn’t want to stay in the house. There’s no point in chasing monsters if the pack won’t talk to him enough to tell him what they know, and Derek doesn’t want to hear what they think of him anyway.

He thinks about Beacon Hills. About what Stiles could want. He definitely doesn’t want to see Derek. That’s clear enough. So, nothing ties Derek to the town anymore. It’s not like his childhood memories here are painless. The Betas are with Scott, they can take care of threats without Derek. Doing things on his own, Derek’s probably messed up their plans. He’ll tell Erica and Boyd to watch over Stiles, tell Derek how he’s doing and keep him safe. The city’s wanted the preserve for years, they’ll take better care of it anyway. The house was always shared with Stiles, he doesn’t want another reminder of how he screwed up, Stiles maybe wants to keep it like a place to live in, he’s probably not going to stay with his dad for long. So. There are no ties.

Derek decides to clear up everything he has here. Move out. Maybe go back to New York. Maybe go to therapy, like Stiles always told him to.

He’s emptying the mailbox when finds a letter from the bank, asking him about the insurance money from the fire. He hasn’t seen those letters in a long time. Derek thinks Stiles didn’t want him to see them, took care of everything himself. Not wanting to worry Derek. Who hadn’t even noticed up till now.

He decides to head to the bank, perhaps organize something like a memorial in the preserve, maybe take it all out and spend it.

No, he thinks. He’s still guilty for that. He owes his family at least a decent memory.

 

 

Derek’s on the third floor of the bank when the robbery occurs. He doesn’t even pay attention to that, since they can’t really harm him much. The girl at the register, though, seems to have a panic attack. Derek talks her through it, like he’s done a few times with Stiles, asks her is there a button for calling the cops, they’re in the corner, so she subtly pushes it.

It seems they have people on each of the floors. It’s very slow going, they constantly talk on a walky-talky. Badly organized, Derek gathers. The people are scared, someone’s screaming. As the burglars talk the usual shenanigans, Derek listens to their heart rates, which are way too high for them to be professionals.

They tell the people to stay in one place, where they can see them. Derek tries to keep everyone around him calm, tells them that the police will be there.

Not long after, he hears sirens somewhere far outside. In a matter of minutes, the building is cornered, there’s someone talking on a megaphone.

Derek sees sheriff Stilinski walking in. Then it’s all a blur.

 

The sheriff’s got backup, but he’s the only one who talks, tries to reason with the robbers, both parties pointing guns. Suddenly, one of the guys drops his gun, runs for the window, opening it, gets ready to jump. The sheriff tries to soothe him, talk to him, but comes too close. Derek sees the moment an idea flashes through the guy’s mind, and he pounces.

Stiles has been through enough. At least this Derek’s actually good for.

Seconds long like hours, Derek pushes himself in front of the sheriff, pushing him away, and as a result, instead of the sheriff, Derek gets pushed through the open window.

Which is how Derek ends up falling three stories down. He’s not sure he’ll survive. Sure, he could heal, but with this kind of impact, he might not make it. He thinks, at least Stiles still has his dad and the pack to look after him.

He remembers Chris’ words. He didn’t tell Stiles he loved him.

 

Derek wakes up in bed. The room’s familiar, but his senses completely are messed up and the room spinning. Pain spreads all over his body. His back arches and he roars from the feeling of being ripped into pieces.

He tries to breathe through the pain, which causes more.

He hears a voice calling out his name, he knows it’s Stiles. He can’t grasp what it is, that tells him, but he’s positive it’s his Stiles.

He asks his name, voice slurring the letters.

“Yeah, yes, Derek, it’s me.” – The sounds echoing.

Derek feels a cold pressure on his forearm, fingers digging into his skin, others brushing through his hair. He turns to the direction of the voice. He says Stiles’ name again, his words coming back to him, blinking his eyes. His vision’s fuzzy. The outline he sees is enough. He breathes out.

And gets smacked on the chest.

“Ow” – Derek winces.

“Don’t you ever do that again!” – Each word coming with a smack.

He winces again, when something wet lands on his chest.

“Stupid wolf.” – Stiles’ voice is muffled, there are vibrations from every vowel.

After a while, Stiles mutters, “You flew three fucking stories.”

Spreading fingers on Derek’s stomach, he continues, “Dad told me what happened. Said I should thank you.”

Derek lifts a heavy palm to stroke Stiles’ hand, but puts it back. “Thank you.”

“No, silly, I’m thanking you.” Stiles giggles, takes the same hand, threads his long fingers through Derek’s.

“You came, Stiles, thank you.” Derek elaborates. Gets smacked again.

“How can you do that to me, Derek? I’m the one who’s supposed to leave.”

Derek swallows. Thinks about how he’ll have to get through this alone after Stiles goes away again. Tries to enjoy what he’s got now.

“Was trying to do you good, baby” – Derek says, petting Stiles’ hair. Stiles leans into it.

“Please don’t leave me.” – Stiles mumbles in a softer tone.

“Will you?” – Derek wishes he could see clearly. His eyesight is getting a bit better, but too slowly.

There’s a long pause.

Stiles’ head lifts up and lands back on his chest.

“Can’t seem to leave.” – He huffs a laugh. Derek feels Stiles’ arms tighten around him, as if Derek could move anywhere. Then a tiny voice mumbles, “Besides, who needs me anyway…”

“No!” Derek sits sharply, looking where he thinks Stiles’ eyes should be. “No,” – his hands blindly search for Stiles, hovering in mid air. “Stiles, baby, you’re so perfect.” He feels Stiles’ cold hands guiding Derek’s, feels Stiles’ cheek. “You’re everything. I messed up so much. I’m so sorry, Stiles.” He brushes Stiles’ cheek, drying the wetness. “Should’ve told you how perfect you are. Should’ve told you I love you. Should’ve said it all the time while you let me. I don’t deserve you, Stiles, but I love you so, so much.” He catches Stiles in a tight embrace.

The pain seems to catch up with him. He lays back, thinking he better find out now before he passes out.

“Stiles?” – he hears a sweet hum from where Stiles’ head is back on Derek’s chest. Derek sees Stiles shifting his hands, folding them under his head, tilting it to look at Derek.

“Will you come home with me?” Derek closes his eyes. This could really be the last no. He doesn’t know how to wake up with that no.

“You’re my hubby, Der. You’ve ruined me for anyone else.” He sees Stiles pat the bed Derek’s laying on. Only then does Derek notice the red colored sheets. “Besides, we’re already home.”

 

Epilogue

Stiles wakes up feeling cold. The bed next to him is empty.

“Here we go again,” – he says, stiffening a yawn, stretching.

He sits, puts his wolf slippers on, and walks to the bathroom.

“Yep, pretty much the same.” He mumbles, stumbling to the kitchen for his morning coffee.

He hears a cracking sound, like oil boiling in a pan. The smell is something heavenly.

“Morning, Periwinkle” Derek says, standing in front of the stove.

He’s wearing glasses and a flowery apron.

Stiles shakes his head. Steps behind Derek and weaves arms around his middle, putting his chin on Derek’s shoulder.

“Whatcha cooking, good-looking?” – He says as Derek tries to nuzzle into Stiles’ face.

“You’ll see, my little Curly-Fry. Now sit down.”

Stiles buries his head into Derek’s back, stifling a laugh. Then goes to sit at the table, set for two and looks back at Derek.

“We really have to talk about your pet names.”

Derek steps away from the stove, puts a plate in front of Stiles and starts poring strawberry syrup. There are heart shaped pancakes on the plate (a little lopsided, but who cares).

“Whatever you say, My Moon and Stars.” Derek says, pecking Stiles’ cheek.

“Ooh, better.” Stiles says, taking a chunk of the pancake, red goo smeared all over his mouth. “Yeah, that one’s staying.”

Derek tilts his head, licks it off with a flick of tongue, kissing the corner of Stiles’ mouth.

Stiles stares at him.

“I really hope so.” Derek replies.


End file.
